


An Idiot Abroad

by BardofEryn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale in France, Aziraphale in Revolutionary France, Damsels in Distress, Funny, Humor, M/M, Missing Scene, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rescue, Short & Sweet, Sweet, The things Aziraphale will do to get in touch with Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofEryn/pseuds/BardofEryn
Summary: Aziraphale had been longing to see Crowley for a century. It was only when a revolution broke out in France that he thought maybe he’d found him. Now, locked in the Bastille, he has some time to think about what exactly he's gotten himself into.





	An Idiot Abroad

_I hope this is worth it,_ Aziraphale thought as he sat in the Bastille. He had been longing to see Crowley for a century. It was only when a horrid rebellion broke out in France that he thought maybe he’d found him. He’d crossed the English Channel (quite a trial on his stomach), dressed up in the fanciest clothes he could think of (all white of course), and had been promptly arrested by the rebels. To be honest, that last one was a mistake. He had thrown off his aura of invisibility to get Crowley’s attention and hadn’t thought of how noblemen’s attire might look to people who were clamoring for bread. Had he thought even a few steps ahead, he could have made bread appear for them (much like that Jesus fellow had done) and spared everyone an enormous headache. As it was, he was chained up in the Bastille, hoping Crowley would hear about some English noble getting arrested and connect the dots.

He rolled his shoulders as yet another person screamed and cried on their way to the guillotine. He was beginning to get nervous. Not for himself, but for the state of humanity. If ever there was a time and place to declare that the Devil had won, it was Revolutionary France while standing next to the guillotine. The amount of bodies alone was enough to make a demon blush. 

Suddenly, it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t Crowley’s doing. Even Crowley, clever demon that he was, couldn’t think up something as horrible as beheading everyone who disagreed with you with a giant head-cutting machine. He remembered his reaction to the Spanish Inquisition. The humans had come up with that. Crowley had only heard about it when he got a commendation for it. The moment he saw it for himself, he’d run into a cantina and drunk himself into a stupor. It had taken three cups of coffee, straight from the Sufi monasteries in Yemen, and the promise of a really good poetry recital to get him out again. To his knowledge, he’d still never gone back to Spain.

His face flushed as he watched the executioner walk down the hall. Crowley could be in China or India or Italy. He didn’t have to be in France. In fact, the chance that he was in Paris at this particular moment was slim to none. He was probably chatting with an Ethopian prince right now, with no idea that there was even a revolution in France. He groaned and shut his eyes. All of the paperwork he’d have to do! Not to mention the stern talking to from Gabriel. And what had he done it for? A chance to see Crowley? Was he really that desperate for company?

He tried talking to the executioner, but the man seemed irrationally proud of his job. It was only when he started to take off the angel’s coat that Aziraphale began to think he should just bolt. He’d be reprimanded, of course, but it was better than discorporation. It was better than knowing Crowley wasn’t coming.

As time slowed to a stop and he heard a familiar voice behind him, his face lit up. 

Crowley was exceptionally good at connecting dots.


End file.
